


Whispers in the Night

by the_random_writer



Category: Cut & Run - Madeleine Urban & Abigail Roux
Genre: Cats, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Sleeptalking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-25
Updated: 2016-03-25
Packaged: 2018-05-28 22:54:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6348862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_random_writer/pseuds/the_random_writer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ty has some unusual late night instructions for Zane.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whispers in the Night

It was the hand on his shoulder that roused him suddenly from his slumber. It gripped him firmly, almost to the point of causing pain, then gave him a gentle but insistent shake.

Zane reluctantly pulled himself out of the warm cocoon of sleep, wondering if Ty was waking him for a spontaneous midnight roll in the hay. Then he remembered that when Ty was in the mood for sleepy sex, the overtures were usually extremely pleasant, intended to persuade him that waking up was worth the trouble. Any bruises were normally inflicted during the main event, not while the supporting act was still coming onto the stage. For his husband to be holding on to him so tightly at such an early point in the game meant something must be _very_ wrong.

In the time it took him to draw a breath, he was wide awake and sitting up, ready to deliver death and destruction to whatever horror was lurking in the wings. He blinked away the last of the sleep and waited for his eyes to adjust to the dark, then glanced around, evaluating the situation.

The bedroom was perfectly quiet and still.

There were no katana-wielding ninjas creeping in through the open window, no burly hitmen with silenced guns hiding behind the heavy door. There wasn't even a misplaced moth fluttering gently around the ceiling, or a wayward squirrel scampering quietly across the chest of drawers.

Cricket was sprawled between his feet with one leg cocked inelegantly behind her head. She grumfed quietly and waited for him to stop moving around in the bed, then gave him an indignant look and returned to the vitally important task of loudly cleaning her nether regions. Jesus. How could something so small and so cute make so many disgusting sounds?

The hand on his shoulder tightened its grip, causing him to wince in pain. He twisted around, and there was Ty, his sweat pants slung teasingly low on his hips, crouching furtively on top of the sheets.

Zane arched a questioning brow, wondering if this was the opening move of some strange, new sex game nobody had told him about. But Ty's body was totally tense, so he obviously felt very threatened, and _not_ in a sexy way.

"Hey, doll, what's wrong?" Zane asked, pitching his voice calm and low.

"We have to tell them, Zane," his husband replied. "Tell them now, before it's too late."

Zane's warning bells started to ring. "Tell who, what?" he cautiously asked, not entirely convinced he wanted to hear Ty's response.

Ty crouched down slightly further, then glanced suspiciously over both of his shoulders, checking that nobody was listening to what he was saying. As Ty's head turned towards the window, Zane caught a glimpse of his husband's eyes. He sighed quietly and allowed himself to relax. He could tell from the slightly vacant expression that Ty was still in the land of nod and talking nonsense in his sleep.

Oh, boy.

He'd long since learned the hard way that the only person in the world more stubborn than Tyler Grady wide awake was Tyler Grady sound asleep. He knew better than to attempt to persuade his other half he was only dreaming. He'd tried that once, back in the early days of their marriage, and it had almost ended with his blood splashed across the bedroom walls. He also know he couldn't smile or laugh. Sleep-talking Ty was an Extremely Serious Person, with no time for teasing or gentle humour. The easiest and safest solution was to leave him to work things through, until he either woke up enough to realize what the hell he was doing, or decided he was happy with the situation and put his head back down on the pillow.

Ty huffed impatiently, obviously not impressed by Zane's lack of comprehension. "The sandwiches, Zane," he ground out through gritted teeth.

"The sandwiches. Yes, of course," Zane replied, trying desperately to suppress his grin. "And what is it we need to tell them again?"

Ty leaned over to whisper into Zane's ear. "The president says they need to stand down from red alert," he revealed, as if he was passing along highly confidential information. "If they're still on red alert when the movie starts, he'll have to send in the dancing pixies."

Zane took a few seconds to compose himself before he replied, to be sure he had his voice completely under control. "And we both know that would be a really bad thing," he commented drily.

"I fucking hate those pixies, Zane," Ty complained. "So, we need to talk to the sandwiches, _right_ now."

"Absolutely," Zane acknowledged, giving a sympathetic nod. "Why don't you let me handle that, and go back to whatever it was you were doing?"

Ty huffed again and narrowed his eyes, suspicious of his husband's support. Zane willed himself to keep his face absolutely, totally straight. If he showed even a hint of the laughter bubbling furiously under the surface, the situation would end in tears.

Ty nodded, satisfied with what he saw. He inserted himself back under the covers, then turned to raise an admonishing finger. "The president's relying on us here, Zane," he warned. "He doesn't want to eat a sandwich that's still responding to a red alert." He scanned around the room one final time, perhaps looking for a waltzing pixie or a panicking salami on rye. Seeing that nothing was out of place, he lay down, yanked the covers over his head and quietly went back to sleep.

Zane fell back on his pile of pillows, his body shaking with silent laughter. This wasn't the angriest thing Ty had ever said to him while fast asleep ('Wash the salad, you fucking prick!'), nor the most informative ('I think I can sleep with everyone in Iowa in the next twelve hours'), but it was certainly one of the most amusing.

He made a quick mental note to pass the details of tonight's _bon mot_ along to Mara and Nick. They'd both been on the receiving end of similar outbursts over the years, and Nick had actually recorded some of Ty's more memorable lines.

Zane considered whether or not to also share this moment with Ty. Sometime he took his mutterings in his stride and had a hearty laugh at his own expense. Sometimes he was annoyed and embarrassed. He hated hearing the sillier stories, and 'dancing pixies' was as silly as anything he'd said to date, so perhaps it was for the best if Zane kept the details to himself.

The sound of steady, quiet breathing told Zane his husband was once again dead to the world. He turned on his side and pulled the covers over his shoulder, still grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

One thing was for sure. Life with Ty was _never_ dull.

With or without the dancing pixies.


End file.
